


That Time Koschei Finds Out He Likes To Be Spanked

by WinterTheWriter



Series: Building Happily Ever After [14]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, M/M, Smut, Spanking, Steve dirty-talks like a pro, Subspace, pure filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:51:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8907955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: Is what it says on the tin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The semester's over, my job's about to close for six weeks, and I just got $300 from my sugar daddy (also I got a sugar daddy). Time for some kinky smut! 
> 
> (Obligatory: Do your research before doing ANY BDSM scenes with anyone. Make sure you negotiate thoroughly and keep up communication. I made Koschei and Steve skip through this a bit for the sake of the #smut but I've been in the scene for four years now so I have earned the right to be lazy. DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME UNLESS YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING, KIDS.) 
> 
> Enjoy~.

The first time it happens, it’s nothing more than a playful love-tap in passing. Koschei’s brushing his teeth, fresh out of the shower. Their bathroom was always sweltering after showers, so he’d forgone a towel after a cursory dry, instead letting the air do the rest of the work for him. Steve walks in behind him, shedding his own clothes to use up what was left of the hot water, and as he passes, he slaps one cheek of Koschei’s arse and waggles his eyebrows at him playfully before stepping into the shower. 

Koschei had frozen mid-brush, cheeks red and eyes wide, and almost choked on his own spit. 

~

The next time it happens, it doesn’t /actually/ happen, and it’s sorta Koschei’s fault. He really liked that love-tap. /Really/ liked it. And because he /really/ liked it, he needs it to happen again. For data. And science. Of course. He lounges naked on their bed while Steve finishes up sparring with the others, resting on his stomach and reading a book. His back may be arched a bit more than necessary. He pleads the fifth. When Steve /does/ come back, he inhales sharply from the doorway and Koschei grins to himself, dog-earing his page and setting it aside. Looking over at Steve, he raises an eyebrow. “Have a good time?” 

Steve practically stumbles towards the bed like he’s being pulled by a chain and it warms Koschei’s hearts that even after all the times they’ve seen each other naked, Steve still loses it like it’s new. He rests a heavy, warm hand on the top of Koschei’s spine and drags it down slowly, resting it on the bottom curve of his arse and grabbing a full handful of it. Koschei shudders and drops his forehead to the bed, pushing up into his hand. “What’d I do to deserve this, hmm?” 

“Looked like that,” Koschei mumbles back, tilting his head to the side to smile up at him. Steve smiles back before dipping two of his fingers into his crack, and Koschei forgets all about his plan. 

~

After that, he just straight up asks, but he chooses an inopportune time to do so. Steve is balls-deep inside of him, reaming him for all he’s worth and growling pure filth into his ear. They’re in the shower, with Koschei’s hands on the wet wall in front of him and Steve pulling his hips back onto his cock with every thrust, the lewd smacking of their skin echoing around the stall. Koschei’s reduced to frantic, breathless “ah’s,” head bowed and back arched. The over-heated steam clouds his head but it only helps, only makes everything /more/, and he takes a deep, shaking breath and looks at Steve over his shoulder, forces his lips to form actual words instead of the needy sounds escaping him. He looks Steve dead in the eye and whisper-moans, “/Spank me/.” 

Whether out of shock or confusion, Steve does not. What he /does/ do, however, is immediately gasp out Koschei’s name and come inside of him, shaking with the sheer force of it and clinging to Koschei’s hips like a life-line.

Koschei counts that as a win. 

~

“So you…want me to spank you? Really? That wasn’t just a heat of the moment thing?” Steve asks him, two days later. Both of them /were/ sitting silently besides each other in bed, Koschei reading and Steve sketching, but this is…slightly more pressing. After putting his book to the side, Koschei clears his throat, shifting a bit on the bed.

“I, er, well….yes. Please.” Steve blinks at him. Koschei blinks back. “I would…really like it if you spanked me.” 

Steve stares at him in silence before shrugging and nodding his head. “Okay.” And then, as if nothing just happened, he goes back to sketching. Mouth agape in shock, Koschei watches him for a few moments, but just before he can gather his wits to say something, Steve continues with a smirk on his face as he draws. “Not gonna tell you when, though.”

~

“Your safeword is Dalek,” Steve tells him, completely out of the blue about a week later. They weren’t making out or even /talking/, just silently changing into their pajamas. Koschei pauses with one leg in his pants, looking at him in confusion.

“My what is what?” 

“Your safeword. Is Dalek,” he repeats, clad only in his boxers, slowly stalking towards him. With a faint smirk on his face, Steve pulls Koschei’s sleep shirt out of his grasp and yanks his pants back down. “Do you accept?”

Oh. “/Oh/. …Yes. Yes, I accept. Yes. Yes,” he babbles, immediately standing at attention (in more ways than one). 

“Yes, /what/?” 

“…Captain?”

“No. Everyone calls me Captain. You call me Sir,” Steve commands, but his eyes are soft and loving and Koschei feels himself melt a bit. He feels privileged, in a way. /Only he gets to call Steve “Sir.”/ 

With a smile, Koschei bows his head once and murmurs, “Yes, Sir.” Steve smiles back at him and skates his fingers along Koschei’s cheek before stepping back and gesturing to the bed. 

“On your stomach. Quickly.”

“Yes, Sir.” Koschei rushes to comply, almost tripping over the fallen fabric of his pants in his haste before he stretches out on his stomach on the bed, head pillowed on folded arms and his legs spread. He looks at Steve and winks cheekily. Steve laughs lightly and comes up to the bed, gently stroking down Koschei’s back.

“I did some research but this is still…new,” Steve says, with just a hint of nervousness coloring his tone. “You tell me the /instant/ I hit you too hard, okay? Or the instant anything goes wrong. Or you’re just done. Or—,”

“Steve, darling,” Koschei interrupts him, sitting up on the bed to cup his cheeks. “/Relax./ I trust you implicitly. I will tell you the second anything is anything less than amazing, alright? …Also, we do /not/ have to do this if you’re not into it.” 

With a bashful-yet-heated smile, Steve guides Koschei’s hand down to the hard line of his cock pressing through his boxers. “Trust me,” he murmurs, “I’m /very/ into it.” Koschei licks his suddenly dry lips and nods, gaze darting down to watch his hand almost reverently rub Steve’s cock, heel of his palm pressing against the base. A full-body shudder wracks Steve’s body and he clamps his hand around Koschei’s wrist. 

When Koschei looks up, Steve is no longer smiling. “On your stomach.” His voice is a low growl that makes lust coil hotly in the pit of Koschei’s gut and he’s nodding before he’s answering.

“Yes, Sir,” he croaks out, gently wrenching his arm from Steve’s grip and getting back into position. He wonders, briefly, if Steve is going to start reciting some god-awful cliches about how /naughty/ and bad he’s been, but as always, Steve surprises him in the best of ways. Working down the waistband of Koschei’s briefs until they sit snugly under the curve of his arse, Steve speaks conversationally, like they’re getting ready for a meeting in the morning or deciding what they want for breakfast.

“I’m not doing this to punish you,” he starts, both hands roughly palming his cheeks and making him exhale loudly, “I’m doing this because your pain is the only thing of yours that I have yet to claim. I’ve taken your body, your hearts, your mind, and now I’m going to take your pain. It /belongs to me, now/, Koschei. Do you understand that?”

Blood singing through his veins, Koschei breathes out a quiet, “Yes, Sir,” and shifts under his hands. Steve digs his nails into his flesh and makes him hiss in pain, arching up closer to it. 

“/Good boy/,” Steve husks, and /oh/, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. With a strained whimper, silently begging for Steve to start, or finger him, fuck him, /anything/, Koschei grinds down on the duvet. The scratchy fabric catches on the ridge of his cockhead and rasps against his skin in the most delicious of chafes. 

/Smack!/ 

Koschei stills himself immediately, breathing hard and loud as pleasure blooms from the stinging heat on his cheek. “Do you want to be able to move or make noise?” Steve demands. He climbs onto the bed as he waits for an answer, the mattress dipping under his weight, and straddles the back of Koschei’s thighs, grinding his erection against his arse through the fabric of his boxers. Koschei moans out instinctively, trying desperately to push back but without the leverage to do so. 

Gods. Which does he want more? It’ll be nearly /impossible/ to keep himself silent, but does he want to forfeit his ability to rut mindlessly when the need for friction gets to be too much to bear? 

“Make noise,” Koschei finally answers, voice nearly a whine. With a slow, torturous drag of his cock /right/ over Koschei’s hole, Steve moves back to hover over the backs of his knees instead, hands once again kneading his arse. “Sir,” he adds hastily.

“Good boy. Noise it is. Make as much of it as you want but you do /not/ move. Understood?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

And then he starts. No more words, no telling Koschei how /many/ strikes he gets, just…starts, landing heavy, open-handed smacks to the meat of his cheeks, hard enough to make the sound echo around the room. Koschei moans with each one, the sharp pain seeming to fizzle into static-y pleasure that crawls up his spine and down his thighs before settling in his balls. Five strikes in, and his muscles quake with the urge to rut. Ten, and the pain is both too much and not enough, clouding his mind and making him tense and grip the covers under him desperately. Steve pauses after the tenth, rubbing his hands soothingly over the overheated skin of his arse before leaning down and gently kissing the back of his neck. “Are you alright, baby?” he asks softly. Koschei swallows thickly and nods, even as his breath leaves him in whimpers. “I need to hear you say it,” Steve mumbles, nuzzling his hair.

“‘m okay, Sir,” Koschei whispers. He finds that once he started calling Steve “Sir” it’s supremely difficult to stop, but Steve doesn’t correct him. 

“Do you want more?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

“…Do you think you could make it to thirty?” 

Koschei doesn’t answer right away, finding it hard to think through the cotton in his head. “Mmm. Yes, Sir. Please. I’m alright.” 

Steve kisses the back of his neck again. “You’re doing so well, doll. I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, Sir,” he replies, smiling slightly. 

Pulling back, Steve runs his fingertips down Koschei’s spine and seems to delight in the shiver it causes. When he starts again, alternating between his cheeks and the tender backs of his thighs, he makes sure to keep his strikes in rhythm. Koschei never knows where he’ll hit next, but he always knows /when/ he’ll be hit next, and it’s almost relaxing. /Is/ relaxing, actually. His arousal is still there, an ever-present need that throbs through his cock, but he feels himself sag into the mattress, the tension seeping from his muscles and his breathing evening out. The pain is still there, still stinging so good into his skin, but it seems distant and detached from the rest of him. He could definitely make it to 30. He could make it to 300 if it feels this good. 

Koschei’s sounds have lost the loud, needy tones they had in the beginning, and now he just grunts quietly and breathlessly every couple strikes with his eyes closed. He hears his blood rushing through his ears and he’s so at peace. Gods, he’s so at peace. 

A few moments later, the peace is replaced by a strange sense of urgency. The pain comes back to him and he has to try harder to keep still. Not even a second later, though, the spanking stops, and Steve’s rubbing his cheeks and thighs again, murmuring gentle praise into his ear and pressing as close to him as he can. Koschei relaxes again, his eyes still shut lightly. “Good boy, you’re such a good boy,” Steve praises, shifting forward and absently rocking his erection against his sensitive cheeks, the material of his boxers feeling like sandpaper. “Do you want this, baby? You want me to fuck you?” 

He can’t talk. He’s present and lucid but he can’t talk, his tongue thick in his mouth and his vocabulary far away in the corners of his mind. All Koschei can do is nod and moan quietly, reaching back for him. Steve grabs his hand immediately and kisses it and Koschei hears him use his free hand to pull his cock from his boxers. He’s been soaking wet since Steve first ordered him, empty and aching for it. Steve drops his hand to steady himself as he lines them up before pushing into him, a low growl escaping him when his hips sit snugly against the heated, reddened skin of his arse. Koschei’s forehead presses into the pillows, breath leaving him in a high whine. Steve grips the back of his neck and keeps him pressed down, other hand holding Koschei’s hip roughly as he fucks into him. 

“Please,” Koschei gasps out, almost too breathless to be a real word, but Steve understands just what he needs. With a feral sound he doubles his efforts, hitting that spot inside of him with unerring precision until he’s moaning and crying out Steve’s name with each thrust. 

“Fuck — you’re so — /fucking/ — hot — /ah/,” Steve grunts, the bed thudding against the wall as he moves. His fingers dig into the flesh of Koschei’s neck as he leans down to press his chest against Koschei’s back, their skin slick and hot between them. “So close, doll, gonna — god — come so hard, come so deep in you. You want that? Wanna feel me lose it?”

“/Yes/ — gods, Sir, pleasepleasepleaseplease,” Koschei begs, “need it, need you, — /justlikethat/ — you’re so—,” he trails off, abandoning his efforts to keep still in favor of grinding back against him, anything to get that cock /deeper./ Steve shakes Koschei’s neck in his grip like he’s a rag doll and something about that just /does it/, and before he knows it, Koschei’s coming hard, crying out Steve’s name raggedly and writhing under him. He hears Steve curse and bite out his name through the haze of his orgasm, hot wetness shooting into him. 

He’s not sure what happens next. He’s not sure how much time passes, or what’s changed. White noise clouds every sense, somehow, and beyond the vague suggestion of movement, he’s dead to the world. When Koschei comes to, he’s cradled safely against Steve’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around him. Steve’s kissing his hair and rubbing his sides and back in slow, soothing movements. Koschei sighs happily into his chest, nuzzling him with a sleepy yawn. “You feel alright, sweetheart?” Steve asks softly, smiling into his hair. 

“Mhmmmm,” Koschei hums, kissing the skin under his cheek. “I love you.” 

“I love you too. …We can do that again sometime, right?”

“Gods, we better.”

“Oh thank god.”


End file.
